Light
by blondiemi
Summary: "She swears that if second chances were possible, she wouldn't hide anymore, she wouldn't turn off her emotion, she wouldn't call herself a tool; because he let her know she was so much more."


Darkness, a flash, the stench of blood. She was stuck in an everlasting whirlwind of images and sensations that made her feel as though they was being thrashed about. It was unrelenting, like the mind on a fever.

Pain, sorrow, a splash of cold water. Was it hell or limbo? Those were the only places people like her could go. There were times she felt agony. The agony of duty, the agony failure, the agony of death. Images of blood on the wall, on her arms, on her stomach, on her feet, on her hands. A shaky, horrified voice filled her ears.

The young master.

Flashes of his scared, golden eyes and quaky voice as he tried to defend her splinter through her being. The rush of memories wouldn't cease and she feels as though she is drowning. Mechanical soldiers by the dozen. Her, alone, with only her sword. Until he came for her. And she hurt him.

She hurt him. She hurt him. She hurt him.

How could she hurt him?

Despair. Despair. Despair.

She thought she was immune to despair, ready for death. Merely a tool.

Yet, she couldn't even save the one thing she would die for.

Despair. Despair. Despair.

She felt the sensation of his bloodied face pressed to her bosom. The tears that began to fill her eyes never fell.

Because at that moment, it all ended.

A sharp pain erupted from where she thought her back was. Where was she? What was she now?

Despair. The feeling diffused into the darkness around her. There was nothing now. No young master, no sword to protect him, no future with him. There's no point to her. Why couldn't she be dead in peace? It must've been the punishment for her sins.

Despair.

And yet, despite absolute sorrow the never-ending flashbacks brought, the faintest light of hope fought through the heavy haze of black. She was dead, that much was true. But, thanks to that, the young master was able to live on. Perhaps she wasn't such a failure. He had run out to her. To save her, the one who was to save him, a mere tool.

"_I...I never needed a __**tool**__! All I ever needed was __**you**__!"_

The words would resonate throughout her and make the thick air of despair dissipate for a moment.

"_I need you! Don't leave me here alone!"_

She never needed to pretend. And she wishes she could tell him he didn't need to either.

She didn't need to scold herself for stolen glances, for the warmth that would spread through her chest when he was around, or for the electricity that would make her whole body tingle when he touched her.

She swears that if second chances were possible, she wouldn't hide anymore, she wouldn't turn off her emotion, she wouldn't call herself a tool; because he let her know she was so much more.

Hope.

But, as usual, just as she felt her spirits lift, the claws of despair would drag her back to the dark abyss.

Soldiers. Uncontrollable movements. Sickening laughter. Blood.

She felt herself suffocating, but the light of hope seemed to call out to her. It's never called after her before.

The smell of sea salt. The clang of swords. The smell of blood. Blood. Blood.

Weakness overcame her, the light fading fast. But she gathered whatever she had left to reach out.

Crashing waves. Crushing pain.

She cried out, launching herself upward toward the thinning ray. She wouldn't give in this time. She would bask in brightness, not rot in darkness.

His gaping mouth. His body against hers. The sword in her back.

Suddenly, she was surrounded by white. Her eyes stung and tears formed. Sensation. Actual sensation. Her hands felt the clean bedsheets that covered her legs and she felt her loose hair tickle her cheeks. She could make out the white walls, the faint smell of antiseptic, the sound of her own ragged breaths.

"Peko?"

Whipping her head to the left, eyes wide, she saw him. His honey eyes were glazed with tears, eyebrows creased. She tried to speak, but the dryness in her throat only allowed for a whimper.

With a heaving sob, he shot up and pulled her into a crushing embrace. Her muscles groaned in protest, having been unused for so long. But she didn't care. He was here again with her, be it a dream or an illusion, she felt so happy at that moment and wished it could go on forever.

"It worked," he blubbered, his shoulders still shaking. "It worked, thank God, it worked. You're back."

"Fuyu...hiko," she said faintly, her voice cracked and airy. His grip tightened and he buried his face into her neck.

Warmth spread throughout her body, but this time she did not scold herself. The only thing that needed pretending now was that her muscles didn't hurt as he hugged her. Without a second thought, she allowed the tears that had been forming to fall and her shoulders to shake.

The two stayed like that, no longer pretending, no longer a master and a tool, but as Peko and Fuyuhiko. Two raw human beings, two equals.

"I thought," he started with a long sniffle, "I thought that you were really gonna be gone forever. You told me to live on and remember you, like you had to say it in order for it to happen. How could I possibly forget," he gave a short laugh, "But, fuck, Peko, I missed you so bad. I almost let that bitch win because of it."

"Young….master?"

"It was all a game, Peko, a sick fucking game that left you and everyone else who died in a shitty coma," he began to break away, his hands sliding down her arms to hold hers. "But it doesn't matter anymore, because we saved you."

Realization splintered through her being. She was alive. She was alive and he was with her. They could live on together again. They were okay. There was hope.

With a breath of happy relief, Peko cast her eyes down to the white sheets. Tearfully, she glanced back up to meet Fuyuhiko's. He looked mature, older, like a young boy who returned from war as a man.

She reached out to touch his face, but before she even reached it, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him. His lips pressed to hers and she felt her eyes widen at the sudden gesture. So obviously nervous, so obviously inexperienced, but so obviously raw and pure. And so, she found herself kissing him back.

There was no need to pretend anymore.

**A/N: Yeah so that is my first SDR2 fic. It wasn't really planned, I honestly just needed to get my feeling for this pairing out because I'd been thinking a lot about them lately. I hope you enjoyed it and would want me to write more Dangan Ronpa fics in the future. Reviews are always great by the way!**


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